Promises and Obligations
by DoctoressOctopus
Summary: Lloyd and Kratos face off in their last battle, forced to put aside the truth that binds them in hopes of determining the future of the two worlds. Spoilers. Oneshot. No pairings, because that'd be nasty.


Lloyd flexed his fingers, allowing his sword hilts to loll about loosely in his grip. Sunlight glinted brightly on the blades as he shifted his stance, tense all over and no longer caring whether it showed. The ground beneath his boots was solid, which would provide the chance for a good sprint when they began.

He measured the distance with his eyes and guessed that it would take him no more than two seconds to close the space between them; but if Kratos also chose to charge forward, the two of them would meet in an instant.

Across the clearing Kratos stood erect and still, a flaming red sword in one hand and a Cruxis shield in the other. His face was blank, bearing no expression, and he observed everything with a patient indifference.

Friend. Comrade. Father. Traitor. Murderer. None of them expected, and yet all were true. Looking at him now, Lloyd imagined he could see bits of himself in Kratos—or perhaps it was the other way around. He wondered if anyone else had noted the physical similarities between them, and then whether he wasn't simply seeing things now that the final battle had arrived.

He shook his head angrily. It didn't matter at this point. The fate of the two worlds rested on the outcome of this fight, leaving no room for hesitation or second thoughts, and Lloyd knew that Kratos would pick up on either of them immediately. Even if the challenge resulted in nothing more than Lloyd's death, he wanted to go with his father knowing he had given it his all.

Recognition by his parents was something he had only dreamed of all his life, and under the strangest circumstances he had found the chance to earn it. It was not an opportunity he was about to lose.

He felt the stares of his friends on the side as they watched and waited. They were with him—always had been, always would be. They _believed_ in him, and that confidence flowed through Lloyd in his blood and gave him strength.

He had told himself he would concentrate solely on the battle to avoid distractions, but Lloyd felt he could use the reassurance and glanced over. The group stood in a line like spectators, faces grim but hopeful. At the end stood Sheena, and her expression was harder to read: arms crossed, she had her lips pressed into a thin line.

_She probably understands this better than the rest of them,_ Lloyd realized, _especially after her fight with Kuchinawa._

The memory of Sheena's duel was still fresh. Lloyd remembered the feeling of standing on the sidelines and only being able to look on, but he had known she would win as surely as he had recognized the goodness in her from the beginning. Now he only wished he could have the same assurance about himself.

There was a light _thwip _as he gave his sword a practice swing, signaling to Kratos that he was ready. The man, his father, only pulled his glove tighter about his fingers, and without looking up said matter-of-factly,

"I'm not gonna hold back this time."

Mouth dry but heart pumping, Lloyd nodded. "I know…I won't, either."

A stiff silence followed, the announcement that the fight was underway. For an instant each opponent beheld the other, motionless, questioning the soundless void behind his eyes how it had come to this. Then the first move was made, and time for regrets was over.

Lloyd took off across the designated battlefield at a run, breath steady, swords angled at his sides like bladed wings as they cut after him. It unsettled him when Kratos made no effort to counter the assault, but Lloyd continued to charge, and once within reach he swung, right to left.

A blur of color was the only sign of Kratos' movement. Empty air greeted Lloyd's blades, but he was already craning his neck around to follow. In the very corner of his eye, he saw Kratos raise his gleaming dagger at his back, about to strike, and with no alternative Lloyd threw himself forward and away from his enemy.

Vaguely, he felt the knife's edge trace along his left shoulder; the pain was quickly forgotten as he placed all of his weight onto his hand and managed a clumsy flip that nearly put him on his knees. No sooner had he righted himself did he have to lift his swords, locking weapons with Kratos to avoid a savage blow.

There was no indecision visible as Kratos drew swiftly back to swing at Lloyd's open left side. Parried, he went for the center, and then for any area possible as he struck again and again, simultaneously forcing the other backwards.

Lloyd swore inwardly as his legs were kicked out from under him, and hit the ground with a gasp of lost breath right before Kratos bore down on him. His twin swords came together in a cross to catch and hold his father's attack a hair's breadth above his face.

A battle of brute strength ensued. The arms of both sides trembled in the efforts to push against the other, but it soon became evident that Lloyd was losing the struggle. He stared into the dark eyes that hovered over him, startled to find that they had unexpectedly filled with anger. When Kratos spoke, his voice was as full and strong as always, and he didn't bother masking his words from the others.

"I told you before—if you face me with any doubt, you'll die!"

That hit home harder than anything. Maybe it was the fact that his enemy had to tell him this, or the look from Kratos that said he expected more; whatever the reason, Lloyd was filled with a brief but potent strength. A cry of defiance escaped him, and using all his power he shoved Kratos over and off of him and leapt up. The bones in his arms rang from the pressure, coinciding with the blood pumping in his ears, but he ignored both and did a quick about-face.

Seconds too late, Lloyd distinguished the circle of light beneath Kratos' figure. Almost immediately, the ground at his feet rumbled and cracked. Lloyd half-jumped, half-stumbled back as pointed stones burst skyward in front of him, missing him by inches, their jagged ends so sharp that he heard them slice through the air.

Once the rocks receded back into the earth, Lloyd stared across at Kratos, his chest heaving. In return he received a solemn look asserting the truth: Kratos meant to kill him.

After that, Lloyd's heart seemed to freeze over. The two of them clashed once more, engaged in another stream of deadly combat.

The back of Lloyd's neck began to perspire, and he winced at the sting it brought to the wound in his shoulder. If anything, that pain fueled him onward.

He integrated all the techniques he could recall, from the self-taught moves he had known growing up to all that Kratos had trained him with.

He swerved to the right, Kratos' knife skimming past his cheek. His left sword came up and battered into its opponent to knock it temporarily off course, but Kratos recovered and jabbed at Lloyd's exposed waist. Lloyd dodged, raised his arms, and made use of both gravity and momentum to slam his sword hilts into Kratos' shield.

The force sent his arm to the side—Kratos was open—Lloyd struck hard—his blade cut through the purple cloth and onto skin—

Kratos did a misaimed backhand, clipping Lloyd's jaw with the shield and retreating several feet in a swift bound. Lloyd observed with disbelief the scratch along the man's hipbone, a thin red line that thickened by the second.

A bright shimmer—Kratos was casting another spell. At an unbelievable speed he completed it, and only just in time Lloyd moved to the side as erratic slashes attacked where he had been standing. The outermost of these grabbed at his shirtsleeve, and the spell hadn't even finished when he rushed Kratos again.

Kratos swung and missed, and Lloyd was instantly on the ground and kicking at the back of his knees. Lloyd got back up as the other fell, one sword aiming for a lethal stroke, but Kratos rolled to the side and jilted the blow, and then was on his feet and arching around to the right.

Another swing, another dodge, and Lloyd was past Kratos' defense a second time. Lloyd, prepared after the last instance, drew his sword in a horizontal motion that cut deep.

Surprised, Kratos staggered back, one hand to his bleeding shoulder. A red tinge was already forming under his fingers, but his expression, although strained, appeared as if it were just short of a smile. Even if he didn't speak, his features made it clear that he had finally acknowledged Lloyd's sincerity and determination.

They stared each other down, now fully aware of the gains and losses in either victory. Each smelled of blood and was soaked in sweat, ready to fight and die for his cause despite the bond that would be hewed upon in the process. As different as their views, and they themselves, were, they had something to die for, a duty for others that came before their own sentimental needs and desires.

In that respect, they truly were kin.

Lloyd leapt aside, retreated, and shot forward, moving not by his eyes but by instinct, submitting to his body's knowledge rather than his mind's. He twisted with a snakelike nimbleness and speed to avoid the streams of fire that raged around him, products of Kratos' spell casting.

Ultimately, Lloyd was forced backwards as the flames intensified; the burning tongues licked hungrily at the grass, driving him further across the clearing and building an impassible wall before Kratos.

At last, the space between them reached its maximum width and the fire went out in the time it took to blink. Unwavering, Kratos shifted his position, and a jolt went through Lloyd as he recognized the beginnings of a spell—not just _any_ spell, but the one that had required its caster to buy both time and distance to successfully complete it—

Blood cold, Lloyd hurried forward. As he ran, he dragged the tip of his sword along the scorched earth to unleash a burst of energy, but in vain. Kratos sidestepped the shot, his spell finished. After that, Lloyd's attention was diverted by the eruption of stone and soil around him. Everywhere in his line of sight was stone, rocketing upward on all sides to trap him. The noise was deafening, and worked with the shuddering ground to distort his senses and reaction time as he tried to take in all that was happening.

Then the black grass split open still further, and pointed columns of rock burst forth like downsized mountaintops. Lloyd evaded the piercing tips, but was caught between the emerging stones and lifted up, up, up with them, partially crushed by the immeasurable weight.

Everything happened too fast for him to follow it all directly, but all of a sudden he was free, free but falling, and he landed roughly on his back with a heavy cough that racked his aching body. Before him, the tangled mess of sharp rock remained, a sight strangely out of place against the green backdrop of the forest. It concealed his view of both Kratos and his friends, but Lloyd could hear the latter speaking in worried tones and some calling his name.

As sore and beaten as he was, he knew it wasn't over yet. He stuck one of his swords into the soil and used it to pull himself up and to his feet. Careful to stay quiet and out of sight, Lloyd moved up to the rocks and listened. On the other side was near silence, or at least as silent as a forest could get, but, very faintly, he fancied he heard Kratos' low footsteps drawing closer.

Swift and soundless, Lloyd began to make his way up the rock pile. He held his swords in a way so that the noise they made was minimized, and once he reached the top of his ascension he crouched and waited.

As difficult as it was to guess how close Kratos was, he managed a close estimate through the abrupt cessation of approaching movement. Lloyd launched himself up and over the top of the rock pile, and with his swords poised readily across his chest he dropped.

Towards the ground.

Towards the stunned, wide-eyed Kratos, who perceived Lloyd's strategy seconds after he should have moved. He brought up his shield, but Lloyd hit the ground feet first and with all his might sent one shattering strike into Kratos' defense. The shield fell away from him in pieces, useless, and before he could begin to retaliate, Lloyd acted.

Slinging his left-hand sword into the air, he gripped the remaining blade's hilt with both hands as he directed the tip towards the first wound he had given Kratos. Every ounce of vigor left in his limbs summoned forth by will, Lloyd jerked his arms up and the sword tore across Kratos' torso from his right hip up to his left shoulder.

Silence fell. The only interruption was the light spatter of blood that followed, uncommonly loud in the stillness, almost a delayed reaction when compared to the speed with which the blow had been dealt. Behind him, Lloyd heard the dull _thump_ of his other sword landing.

Neither moved. Lloyd was panting, but his sword remained unmoving at the end of its wounding arc. He could see the blood running off the silver end, just as he saw the blood on Kratos' clothes and heard it hitting the grass as it dropped off of his weapon—

A shudder, a brief exhale, and Kratos dropped to his knees. For a moment Lloyd lost all recollection of the previous battle and instinctively wanted to help him up, but he refrained.

"You…have become stronger," Kratos breathed, not looking at him. His sword slipped from his loose fingers, and Lloyd also put away his weapon by driving it into the ground.

"Thanks to you."

Kratos smirked. "No," he replied gently. "I only watched you grow—I've done nothing…" Pausing, he met Lloyd's eyes, and in a stronger voice he added, "I'm proud of you. I'm sure Anna would be, as well."

To that Lloyd had no response. He blinked, shocked at his father's blunt statement. Slowly, he smiled a grim smile, and then crouched down so that they were on the same level. Kratos took the chance to lower his head, trying to hide his labored breathing.

"I wish it didn't have to end this way," said Lloyd, meaning it. Eyes closed, Kratos said, in a way that didn't entirely convince Lloyd,

"Perhaps it is for the best."

Part of him wanted to argue, but Lloyd decided against it and said nothing. Then, Kratos did something that caught him off guard entirely: he put an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him forward against his chest.

Lloyd, speechless and unsure what to think, remained stiff; but then he felt the warm blood seeping through his shirt, bringing him back to reality, and he allowed himself to relax. Looking over Kratos' shoulder, he realized that it was not so much an embrace as a sign of equality, a more intimate handshake, almost.

He merely stayed there, choosing not to return the gesture. Instead, he spoke soft and low so that only Kratos could hear:

"I'm sorry…Dad."

Just like that, it was over. The two drew apart, opponents once again in a war that did not recognize the immortal ties of blood. But, like all things not mortal, their connection would outlast the war and whatever its outcome. Each had his priorities, and yet that bond would still exist when everything was said and done.

Kratos rose, and with a slight limp he moved past Lloyd, who turned to watch him approach the engraved stone marking Origin's seal. Resting a hand upon its surface, he paused just long enough for Lloyd to inquire uneasily,

"What are you doing?"

Kratos didn't move. "…This is what you desire, is it not?" he asked calmly.

A numbing fear wrapped itself around Lloyd's heart. "No!" He jumped up. "If you break the seal, you'll…" His eyes narrowed at the prospect.

"Lloyd," said Kratos, now stern, "this is what you fought for."

"No, I…" Lloyd glared and tightened his fists. "I fought so that the worlds can stand a chance at survival without having to hurt each other—but if that means making another sacrifice out of you—"

"Lloyd," Kratos repeated, "to make a sacrifice means to throw away something of inestimable value—a person's life, for instance. But as for me…" He looked away, and his tone was pained. "Don't make the mistake in thinking that I'm worth enough for my death to be called a sacrifice."

Turning his head, he laid his bloodstained fingers on the tablet again. "If you let a soft heart stand in the way of your dream, Lloyd, you're nothing but weak."

Every bit of Lloyd was screaming that this was wrong, but at the same time he saw the two worlds, Sylvarant and Tethe'alla, and the struggles they would have to face if Origin wasn't released. Nonetheless, he had promised himself that he would make no more sacrifices, and despite whatever Kratos said, that was exactly what he was doing.

"…Wait—"

A flash of light; Kratos had broken the seal.


End file.
